The Sharpest Lives
by Miss Grace O'Malley
Summary: Darcy is stuck in Russia. Bucky is traipsing over Europe. And Steve is busy becoming Captain America. The trio is divided as they each find themselves in different situations. (Part 2 of the I Saw the Light Series)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 _December 25, 1936 – Brooklyn, New York – Rogers/Barnes Residence_

"You…you bought a tree?"

Bucky had insisted that he move in with Steve to help keep the other man afloat financially. They'd written Darcy to let her know, but had only received vague postcards in return. It didn't bother them much. They knew she was busy touring – they thought she was just touring Europe – and they wrote her small letters of encouragement every opportunity that they got.

Work at the docks had been steady. Bucky still picked up extra shifts at the steel factory, too, but the docks paid more. Steve got a few illustration gigs. It was enough money to keep them going and allow them to keep some set aside.

Bucky grinned and slung his hand around Steve's bony shoulders. "Figured we needed a tree. Darce always insisted on one."

"She's not here, Buck – "

"But, we're gonna take a picture anyway. Get it developed and send it t' her."

Steve rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he watched the brunet set the bulk of the camera on the coffee table and set the timer. He rushed back and had his arm around Steve in an instant before there was a soft _snick_ , letting them know the picture had been taken.

Later, when it was developed, Steve would sit at the kitchen table and draw a mirror of the photo, including Darcy between him and Bucky.

* * *

 _June 6, 1938 – New York_

It was a long car ride. Long enough to make Bucky's ass go numb, but he didn't complain. He'd jumped in the cab when Steve told him to and didn't question it as the punk kept rubbing his sweaty hands along the thighs of his pants.

When the car finally stopped, Steve tossed some money over the seat at the cab driver and scurried out, leaving Bucky in the dust. He scratched his head when he closed the car door and looked at the rundown little farmhouse.

"Isn't it perfect?" Steve asked, his eyes bright with excitement.

"For what?"

"For _us_ ," the blond said, rolling his eyes as he gestured towards the house. "For Darcy. This could be ours, Buck."

He looked at the house with new eyes then. The little house had potential. Bucky could fix it up, Darcy could sit on the wraparound porch with her coffee. A couple kids could play in the yard. He could see the appeal.

He chuckled. "Leave it to ya to be lookin' for a house."

"We keep savin' the way we do, it could be ours in the next few years."

* * *

 _April 12, 1941 – Brooklyn, New York_

"I wanna get a will drawn up."

Steve looked over his cheese stake and cocked his head. "Why you wanna do that?"

Bucky shrugged, picking at his own sandwich halfheartedly. It had been on his mind more and more recently. He wanted to be prepared in case anything ever happened.

"You don't have much to leave me, ya know."

Bucky barked a laugh. "Like I'd leave ya anythin', ya punk." He shook his head. "I'd leave everythin' to Darcy. That way, you'd have it, too. But it's safer in her name, I think."

The blond nodded. "Do ya…do ya think it'd be a good idea to open a bank account and put it in your name? Maybe deposit the money I've been keepin' under the bed."

"That's a swell idea, Stevie."

"I'm known to have them on occasion."

* * *

 _May 25 1941 – Brooklyn, New York_

"C'mon, punk. We got a game to go to."

Steve popped his head out of the bathroom, his hand shaking out the water in his hair as he eyed Bucky questioningly. "What?"

Bucky buckled the belt on his pants and gave him a crooked smile. Pulling two tickets from his pocket, he waved them in the air. "Bought us a couple o' tickets to go see the Dodgers. Figured we been working so hard that we deserved somethin' nice."

"But," Steve shook his head, "What about – "

"It's the super's job to replace the fridge, Stevie. This is somethin' just for us." Bucky tied his boots up and dusted some lint off his worn pants. "Now, get dressed so we can go. 'Less ya wanna be in your skivvies – "

Steve threw the towel at Bucky's face, unsurprised when the latter caught it with ease. "Yeah, yeah, I'm goin'."

* * *

"We got another one!"

Bucky nearly skidded out of the kitchen and banged his knee on the ramshackle coffee table as he lumbered into the living room. "Yeah – _motherfuck_ – where's she at now, punk?"

" _Language_ ," the blond chided, flipping over the worn postcard. It had a dozen hula girls surrounding a man playing a ukulele on it. "Hawaii, I'd assume." He flipped it over and smiled at Darcy's loopy writing.

 _Wishing you were here! I'm learning something new every day._

 _-Darcy xo_

Bucky whistled low. "Hawaii. Boy, can ya imagine her in a grass skirt and a coconut bra? She'd never leave the damned bungalow."

Steve couldn't even chide him as his own thoughts drifted to a half-naked Darcy.

They used to receive actual letters from her, but those stopped almost four years ago. Now they were lucky to get a postcard with her location so they knew she was at least safe. Spot had told them not to worry, that Darcy was still their girl and she was just trying to get an education and tour with one of the best ballet companies, but when she stopped coming home for breaks and things, it made everything harder.

 _"Plane tickets are expensive, Buck," Steve had reminded him as he tacked up another one of Darcy's postcards. "And we aren't really in a way to help pay. She'll come home; she always does."_

But four years was an awful long time to wait for their girl.

"We should try to go see her for Christmas," Steve suggested, handing the postcard to the brunet. "Surprise her. I'm sure she'd love it."

"Ya think she'll still be in Hawaii?"

He shrugged. "She seems t' send somethin' each time she goes somewhere new."

Bucky thought about it for a moment. "And we'd get t' see Hawaii even if she's not."

* * *

" _Priyekhat._ "

"No."

" _Priyekhat_."

"NO."

" _Priyekhat, Sirena_."

"NO!"

A shock tore through her body, leaving her shuddering. Her bones felt like they were on fire, like she had no skin left. The electrodes attached to her temples buzzed faintly with resounding electricity and she wanted to curl up and cry. Her knees were raw from the stone floor and the chill was beginning to be too much, but she'd never give him the satisfaction.

" _Sirena_ , I thought we discussed this, no?"

A sharp _smack_ to her cheek had her seeing stars and she looked up at the small man angrily.

"My name is _Darcy Lewis_ ," she spat, blood dripping down her chin from where he'd split her lip. "And you are _nothing_."

Zola sat back on his heels, looking down at her distastefully. "We will see. You're much harder to control than I anticipated."

"You'll _never_ break me."

A sharp zap ricocheted through her skull and she ground her teeth.

"My dear, you're already broken. I'm trying to put you back together." He stepped back, almost across the room and it started all over again.

" _Priyekhat_."

* * *

 _December 7, 1941 – New York City, New York_

Steve turned his sketch sideways, wondering what on earth had gone wrong with the lines. He'd never had a problem with capturing anything on paper, but Darcy was on his mind more and more seeing as he and Bucky were going to be leaving in a week.

It took a lot of saving – and Steve picking up any illustrating jobs that came through for the local paper – but he and Bucky were able to pool together their money for two tickets to Hawaii. Another postcard hadn't made its way to them yet, so they assumed she was still holed up on the island.

"What's wrong, punk? Your paper wrinkled?"

Steve smiled down at his paper. "Nah. I think 'm just excited."

"Me, too, Stevie," Bucky smirked, wiping eraser shavings off his own paper. "I can't wait t' see her – what the – "

" _We interrupt the scheduled programming to bring you urgent news from the White House._ "

"Buck – "

"Quiet, punk."

The whole classroom had gone silent and they were all staring at the small radio with dread. Bucky knew that the war had been getting worse, but it didn't really involve them, not yet.

" _Hello, NBC. Hello? This is KTU Honolulu, Hawaii. I am speaking from the roof of the Advertiser Publishing Company Building. We have witnessed this morning the distant view –_ "

"Hawaii? _Hawaii_ , Buck – "

"Shut yer trap!"

" _– a brief battle of Pearl Harbor by enemy planes, undoubtedly Japanese. The city of Honolulu has also been attacked and considerable damage done_."

Steve stopped breathing. Panic clawed at his throat. His hands shook so hard that he knocked his pencils off the table with a resounding clatter.

 _Darcy_.

Darcy was in Hawaii - possibly Honolulu.

What if something happened? Was she okay?

" _We cannot estimate just how much damage has been done, but it has been a very severe attack. The Navy and Army appear to have the air and the sea under control._ "

Bucky stood up and slid his hand across the table, clearing everything into a bag he was holding under the edge. "We're going home. _Now_."

* * *

 _December 8, 1941 – Brooklyn, New York – Rogers/Barnes Residence_

"Did ya send a telegram?"

Bucky nodded, closing the door behind him and shrugging off his coat. "Damned furnace. It'd be great it they'd just replace the damned thing." He sighed, keeping his boots on for warmth and accepting the lukewarm cup of coffee that the blond offered him. "I sent it to Honolulu, the operator doesn't know when it'll get read, though. The lines have been down…"

"Maybe she's not there anymore. Maybe she moved on – "

"I'd like to believe that, but we gotta go with what we know, Steve. The last place she was in was Hawaii. Maybe…maybe she's somewhere safe. Maybe the army got to her in time."

Steve shuddered visibly. "Ya know what we gotta do, don't ya? Roosevelt declared that the US is part o' the war now."

"We gotta join the army."

"For Pearl Harbor."

"For _Darcy_."

* * *

 _December 20, 1941 – Brooklyn, New York – Goldie's Boxing Gym_

"Hands up, punk. Block my hits."

Steve wheezed, keeping his guard in place as Bucky jabbed at him. Bucky swung his leg under his feet and he crumpled, staring up at the worn ceiling as he struggled for breath.

"Steve – "

"'m fine." He reached into his pocket and took out his inhaler, taking a few puffs before he got back on his feet. "Again."

Bucky shook his head. "Ya might be better with a gun – "

"Again."

"There's no sense pushin' ya this hard."

" _Again_."

Bucky swung again and stumbled in surprise when Steve blocked his hit. He doubled his blow and struck again, only being pushed back a few feet. Steve swung at him and connected squarely with his stubbled jaw, earning a grin.

"Maybe there's hope for ya yet, punk."

Steve squared his shoulders and put his fists back up. "Again."

* * *

 _December 24, 1941 – New York City, New York – US Induction Center_

It was daunting.

Steve was terrified; Bucky was _exhilarated_.

"Now, soldiers, you all have seventeen minutes and thirty seconds to complete a two-mile run. Anyone that doesn't complete that will be disqualified."

It had been hell to do 31 pushups, but Steve had done it – wheezing his way through the final ten. He had struggled to do 43 sit-ups, having his inhaler practically plastered to his hand as he powered through it. But running two miles? _Running_?

He could sort of handle himself in hand-to-hand combat, enough to keep himself from getting beat up too much when he and Bucky went at it. He was quick enough to catch himself when he fell and knew when to retreat – not that he ever _did_ – but running was a whole other obstacle that he and Bucky had severely neglected.

"Get some water and be ready in five minutes."

Steve stared after the man in uniform, a curse falling from his lips.

"Steve – "

"I can do this."

Bucky looked at him pitifully. "Can ya? _Can ya_? This isn't a walk down the block, punk. This is a full-on _run_. Ya have to _run_ for _two whole miles_."

"I can do it. For…for _Darcy_."

"Stevie…" the brunet swallowed thickly. "Ya know that if ya don't make it in, I'm gonna. And I'm gonna beat the shit – "

" _Language_."

" – outta everyone that could'a hurt her. She was our girl, Steve. She _is_ our girl."

Steve floundered. He felt like a small fish in a big pond and he was _drowning_. The thought that Darcy had perished in Honolulu literally haunted his dreams. There'd been no postcards in the past weeks, no inkling that she was all right. Her name hadn't come up on the list of the causalities that was released, but that meant nothing; lots of people were unaccounted for. It made him angry and scared all at once and if he could only join the army, he could get to Pearl Harbor and search for her.

Bucky put his hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezed tightly. "If she's out there, I'll find her."

* * *

 **Let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 _June 14, 1943 – New York City, New York – World Exposition of Tomorrow_

Lights and sounds and amazement were all that Steve could comprehend. He'd been saving up for months – and getting monthly rations from Bucky – to be able to make it to the fair.

Bucky had come home and told him off for trying to enlist in another city. However, things really blew up when he learned that it was _four_ cities, not just one. Bucky was always there to protect him, keep him on his toes, and make sure he was taken care of.

 _"You got anythin' else to say, kid?"_

 _A sharp pain radiated down from Steve's cheek, his vision blurry as he struggled to get up. The stone on the building dug into his back as he put his feet under him and his fists up._

 _"I…I can do this all day," he wheezed, wondering if his inhaler was still in his pocket or if it'd ended up across the alley._

 _Another blow had him on his knees, coughing up the blood that had filled his mouth when his teeth cut his cheek._

 _"Why doncha pick on someone your own size, huh?"_

 _Steve groaned as he got back to his feet, watching a man meticulously pick off the men that were beating on him. Hazy eyes tracked the movement and he admitted that he felt equal parts ashamed and thankful._

 _"Leave it t' ya t' get yourself in trouble. Sometimes, I think ya like getting' punched."_

 _"I had 'em on the ropes," he blinked before the voice registered. "Buck?"_

 _"Heya, punk."_

Steve shook away the memory, grinning at how good Bucky had looked in his Sergeant's uniform. He hadn't thought it was possible that a little scrapper from Brooklyn had risen so quickly in the ranks, but he was proud of him.

Bucky was a sharp shot and an asset to the army. Steve hoped he'd make it to Hawaii within his first year or so, but it was almost two years later and he was still stationed God knows where.

"Steve?"

Steve blinked and looked up, noticing a recruiting station. His blue eyes widened. "Bucky?"

"What're ya doin here, punk?"

"I…" he faltered. What was he doing here? "Just lookin', jerk."

"Sergeant Barnes, would you like to take a break?"

Bucky looked back at the person at the recruiting table and nodded. "That's a fine idea, Private Warren. Be back at eighteen-hundred." He saluted the man and walked towards Steve, motioning for them to walk.

"You're kind o' a big deal, huh?"

Bucky shrugged. "Bein' a sergeant has its perks. What're'ya really doin' here, punk? I thought ya had a class – "

"Hadda get outta Brooklyn. Been lookin' forward to this, though." Steve's eyes were taking in everything around him. It was extraordinary to be in a place with so many great minds. "Howard Stark's supposed to be here, right? Thought it'd be cool to meet 'im."

They walked in silence for a while. It was comforting to have Bucky back for a time, but also disconcerting. Why hadn't he said that he was coming back? Why hadn't he come to see Steve?

"Are ya still tryin' to enlist?"

"Buck – "

The brunet held up his hands in defense. "It's a valid question."

Steve shook his head before running his hand through his hair. "I haven't tried since I saw ya last. I want to – _don't give me that look_!"

"Ya from Paramus now?" Bucky produced a crinkled paper from his breast pocket. "Ya know it's illegal to lie on the enlistment form. And seriously, _Jersey_?"

"Ya get your orders?" The blond asked, trying to change the subject from his obviously rejected application.

"The one-o-seventh. Sergeant James Barnes. Shippin' out to England first thing tomorrow."

"I should be goin'," Steve said bitterly, scuffing his shoe against the ground purposely.

"Come on, Steve! It's my last night and I don't wanna argue with ya – "

The blond stopped, glaring at his best friend with malice. "Well, it's a fair. I'm gonna try my luck."

"As who? Steve from Ohio?" Bucky scoffed, taking off his hat and smoothing back his hair. "They'll catch ya. Or worse, they'll actually take ya."

"Look, I know ya don't think I can do this."

"This isn't the back alley, Steve. It's war!"

"I _know_ it's a war. Ya don't have to tell me."

Bucky sighed. "Why're'ya so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs, jobs that can – "

"What am I gonna do? Collect scrap metal – "

"Yes!"

" – in my little red wagon?"

"Why not?"

"I'm not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky."

"I don't – "

"Bucky, come on! There are men laying down their lives. I got no more right to do any less than 'em. That's what ya don't understand." Steve laughed self-deprecatingly. "This isn't about me."

"Right. 'Cause ya got nothin' to prove."

"Sarge! They need you at the camp."

Bucky and Steve turned at the same time and met the private that had approached them. Sighing, Bucky put his hat back on and smoothed out his uniform. "Don't do anythin' stupid until I get back."

"How can I?" Steve volleyed back. "You're takin' all the stupid with ya."

"You're a punk," he said, wrapping Steve in a hug and squeezing him tight.

"Get to Honolulu if ya can," Steve whispered, feeling a tear slip out of his eye. He coughed and pulled back, giving him a worn smile. "Be careful, jerk."

* * *

It was cold and the metal against the thin seat of his worn pants chilled him further. His hands were sweaty and the nurse was whispering something to the doctor in front of him. Steve held his breath when the doctor looked him over.

"Wait here," he said, turning and slipping out of the examination room.

"Is there a problem?" He asked the empty room. His blue eyes traveled to the sign that warned him against lying on his enlistment form and a knot formed in his stomach. He didn't think twice as he got up and grabbed his shoes from the floor when an older man walked into the room with a stern look on his face.

 _Lord, I'm gonna be arrested_ , he thought, _Bucky's gonna kill me_.

The man had a weathered lab coat on and he looked to be late fifties. He was shorter, but dressed well, and when he spoke he had a hint of an accent that Steve couldn't place.

"So, you want to go overseas. Kill some Nazis."

It wasn't a question.

"Excuse me?"

"Dr. Abraham Erskine," the man said, extending his hand to Steve who took it questioningly. "I represent the Strategic Scientific Reserve."

"Steve Rogers."

Dr. Erskine looked through the file that the other doctor had left near the sink. He made small noises of approval and clicks of annoyance.

"Where are ya from?"

He looked up. "Queens. 73rd Street and Utopia Parkway. Before that, Germany." He paused. "This…troubles you?"

The blond shook his head. "No."

"Where are you from, Mr. Rogers? Hmm?" He flipped through the file, pausing on each page as he spoke. "Is it New Haven? Or Paramus? Five exams in five different cities."

Steve scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "That might not be the right file."

"No, it's not the exams I'm interested in. It's the five tries." He sat down the file and looked at Steve once more, something different in his eyes. "But you didn't answer my question. Do you want to kill Nazis?"

"Is this a test?"

"Yes."

"I don't wanna kill anyone. I don't like bullies. I don't care where they're from."

Dr. Erskine nodded in approval. "Well, there are already so many big men fighting this war. Maybe what we need now is the little guy, hmm? I can offer you a chance." He opened the door of the exam room and motioned for Steve to follow him. "Only a chance."

Steve bubbled with excitement, keeping his hand on his inhaler in his pocket. "I'll take it."

 _I'm one step closer to Darcy_ , he thought.

* * *

 _June 18, 1943 – Camp Lehigh, New Jersey_

Steve wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this.

He had been training with men that were twice his size – on a good day – and getting yelled at by a man that all the other guys called Col. Phillips. Dr. Erskine had pulled him aside after a training exercise had left him winded and wheezing, whisking him into what looked like a locker room.

When he heard the clack of heels against the cement floor, he quickly averted his eyes, praying that this wasn't the girls' locker room. He didn't look up until Dr. Erskine cleared his throat.

"Mr. Rogers, please meet Agent Peggy Carter," Dr. Erskine said, introducing him to a pretty, little brunette that had bright red lipstick applied perfectly to her plush mouth. She had a good enough shape, but not nearly as full as what he preferred and she was much taller than girls he was used to.

It was like a kick to the gut how much she reminded him of his girl. Of _Darcy_.

"How do you do, Mr. Rogers?" She asked, offering a dainty lace-clad hand. "And please, call me Peggy." She looked him over and he shuffled his feet, also noting that she had dark eyes. "You're the one that jumped on the dummy grenade, correct?"

Steve scratched the back of his neck nervously before nodding. "Yes, ma'am."

Peggy smiled and glanced at Dr. Erskine. "He's a bit small, isn't he?"

"It's what's inside that counts," Steve countered haughtily.

"I suppose it is, soldier."

* * *

 _June 21, 1943 – Camp Lehigh, New Jersey_

He'd lost count of the hours he'd spent plastered to the small bed that the army had given him in his private room. It'd been five days since he arrived at the base and he'd worked hard to prove himself. Apparently, jumping on a dummy grenade had _not_ been the way to get noticed. Especially since the camp wouldn't seem to let him forget it.

The book that Darcy had sent him nearly four years ago, his engagement ring, and an old shirt of Bucky's were the only things he brought with him other than the clothes on his back. He'd sealed up the apartment nice and tight and he knew no one would bother it. He fiddled with his ring a little, smirking at how no matter what he did; only Bucky was able to get the damned thing off.

"May I?" A knock sounded against the doorframe of his room, showing a nervous Dr. Erskine.

"Yeah," Steve answered, giving the man a smile as he came in, taking a seat in the small chair that was across from the bed.

The doctor looked around for a few moments, a bottle of something in his hands. "Can't sleep?"

"Got the jitters, I guess," he shrugged, twisting his ring around his finger.

A quiet laugh was the reply. "Me, too."

"Can I ask you a question?" Steve was proud that he'd been tramping down on the Brooklyn slant to his words. It made him seem more educated. At least, that's what Peggy had said a few days ago.

"Just one?"

"Why me?"

Dr. Erskine tilted his head. "I suppose that is the only question that matters." He sighed, looking down at the bottle he held. "This is from Augsburg. My city. So many people forget that the first country that the Nazi's invaded was their own." He paused, shaking his head. "You know, after the last war the…my people struggled. They…they felt weak. They felt _small_. You know that feeling, no? And then Hitler comes along with the marching and the big show and the flags and the…and the…" he waves his hand in exasperation. "And he…he hears of me, my work, and he finds me. And he says 'You. You will make us strong.' Well, I am not interested." Dr. Erskine stood, leaving the bottle near his feet as he paced the small space.

"So, he sends the head of HYDRA – his research division. A brilliant scientist by the name of Johann Schmidt. Now, Schmidt is a member of the inner circle and he's ambitious. He and Hitler share a passion for occult and power and _destruction_. He has become convinced that there is a great power hidden in the earth, left by the Gods, waiting to be seized by a superior man. So, when he hears about my formula and what it can do – what it's _supposed_ to do – he cannot resist. He stole the formula and injected himself."

Steve sat in awe for a moment. "Did…did it work?"

"Yes. But there were other effects. The serum…it was not ready, yet. But, more importantly, the man. The serum amplifies everything that is inside. So," he said, stopping directly in front of the blond, excitedly gesturing. "Good become _great_. Bad becomes _worse_. This is why _you_ were chosen. Because a strong man that has known power all of his life will lose respect for that power, will _abuse_ it. But a weak man knows the value of strength, of compassion!"

"Thanks…I think."

"Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing." Dr. Erskine met his blue gaze, a weight of a thousand words behind the simple request. "That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man."

 _A good man_.

Darcy had sad after his ma's funeral that he was a good man. That he did the best with what he had and provided for her despite all the obstacles. He'd be that good man. For himself and, more importantly, Darcy.

Steve nodded. "A good man."

* * *

 _June 22, 1943 – Brooklyn, New York_

"I know this neighborhood," Steve said, his blue eyes peering out the window. "I got beat up in that alley. And that parking lot. And that _damned diner_ – "

Peggy looked up from the wheel, a small smile tugging at her bright red lips. "Did you have something against running away?"

"You start runnin' and they'll never let you stop. You stand up, push back. Can't say no forever, right?"

She laughed. "I know a little of what that's like. To have every door shut in your face."

"I guess I just don't know why you'd wanna join the army if you're such a beautiful woman. Er – Agent."

"Well, I couldn't stay at home and knit my life away when there's so much to be done," she answered primly, giving him a sly look. "You have no idea how to talk to a woman. Do you?"

Steve thought about Darcy and he shook his head. "I knew how to talk to one woman – "

"Your mother doesn't count."

He laughed. "She wasn't my ma." His fingers went to his ring and he heard Peggy stifle a gasp beside him.

"You're married?"

"Engaged. She's…she's off tourin' with an opera company. We…I last heard from her when she was in Hawaii, a few months before the attack. Haven't…I haven't heard from her since."

"Oh my."

Steve glanced at her and saw tears in her brown eyes. He shrugged, pulling the small photograph out of his shirt pocket and handing it to her, plastering on a smile. "She's my girl. I'm gonna find her when this is all over and bring her home."

Peggy nodded, looking at the woman in the picture before swiping under her eyes. "It will be my pleasure to help you."

* * *

 _June 24, 1943 – Camp Lehigh, New Jersey_

"It really worked."

Steve looked up and saw Peggy lingering in the doorway of the exam room. He'd spent the better part of the past couple days being poked and prodded after he was escorted back to Camp Lehigh. He'd met Howard Stark and seen firsthand what kind of genius he was.

To be pulled out of a machine much larger than he originally was to begin with had been entirely discombobulating. He'd shot up to over six feet, he had muscles he hadn't even known was possible – and he'd lived through Bucky's shirtless phase after he'd started working at the docks – and he literally felt like he could do anything.

Gone was the wheezing and the tightness of his chest. His lungs could expand without a violent choking fit. He could reach the top shelf _everywhere_. He could pick up most anything, heavy or not, and carry it for hours.

Dr. Erskine had given him a chance. A chance to serve his country. A chance to find his girl. His _fiancée_.

"You look…"

"Different? Yeah, I noticed," Steve said, looking down at the khaki pants that had been issued to him. He cocked his head, a commotion down the hall drawing his attention. "Do you hear that?"

Peggy blinked. "Hear what?"

Yelling erupted and Steve flew out of the room, chasing down the noise.

"Steve! Come back!"

* * *

 _June 25, 1943 – Austria – HYDRA Facility_

"I understand you found him."

"See for yourself."

The _Sirena's_ eyes were focused on the metal table in front of her as her handler had instructed. The metal of her bracelets glinted beneath the tight black Kevlar of her uniform and it dimly registered that it matched the steel of the table.

"I don't see why you need to concern yourself. I can't imagine he'll succeed," her handler said. "Again."

"His serum is the Allies' only defense against this power we now possess. If we take that away from them, then our victory is assured." There were footsteps before the man spoke again. "Your serum has been most enlightening. Your project has been invaluable." A scrape of chair legs against the flooring. " _Sirena_."

She stood at attention. Her boots smacked together, her gaze remaining on the floor. A finger under her jaw caused her head to tilt upwards and her gaze focused to the left, on her handler.

"She's a pretty _devushka_ , no?" He moved her head to the side, smiling in appreciation. "Like what the Americans paint on their planes. How old is she?"

"At the time of her injection, she was eighteen years old." Her handler stumbled, his face a mask of worry. "Currently, she should be twenty-five years old, but the serum has halted any and all aging."

The man's eyes widened. "She will never age?"

"One of the side effects of the serum. I had only tested it on animals previously and I attempted to duplicate Erskine's serum from your DNA…there were too many uncontrolled substances." Her handler shook his head. "I'm not sure how it will affect her in time."

"Interesting. How long did she take to break?"

"Five years." A pause. "She will be an asset to HYDRA. She has been trained and she will be ready for her mission shortly."

The man chuckled. "Ah, yes, _Sirena_. Luring men to their deaths. What an apt name, Dr. Zola."

* * *

 _October 29, 1943 – Italy_

Steve sighed and put his head in his hands, scratching at the knit of his costume. He wondered if this was how Darcy felt in her getup for the circus. He didn't like being on display, he didn't like the singing and dancing.

"And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey?" Peggy asked, popping her lipstick back in her purse and walking to the other side of the small tent across from him. "You were meant for more than this, you know?"

When Dr. Erskine had been shot, that meant that his serum died along with him. Howard had begged Steve to stay in New York, to allow him to draw the blond's blood and try to dissect his DNA, but he couldn't. Steve had a chance to make things a bit more manageable for the front lines, even if that meant dancing for war bonds.

"You know, for the longest time I dreamt about coming overseas and being on the front lines. Serving my country." He gave a self deprecating laugh. "I finally get everything I wanted and I'm wearing tights."

The loud wail of an ambulance caught his attention and he watched as wounded soldiers were taken into the makeshift medical tent, battered and bruised with more bandages than he could count.

"They look like they've been through hell."

Peggy nodded in agreement. "These men more than most. Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men went up against him and less than fifty returned."

Johann Schmidt was becoming a thorn in Steve's side quite literally. As Hitler's right hand, he planned every battle to his strengths and that was one of the many reasons that Steve worked so damned hard to sell war bonds – even if he looked ridiculous.

"The men in the audience tonight contained what was left of the one-oh-seventh," Peggy contained sadly. "The rest were killed or captured."

 _"The one-o-seventh. Sergeant James Barnes. Shippin' out to England first thing tomorrow."_

Steve's breath caught. "The one-oh-seventh?"

"What?"

"Come on!" He grabbed Peggy's hand and dragged her to a larger tent where he knew he'd find what he needed.

Col. Phillips looked up from his papers, waving off an aid that hovered anxiously. "Well, if it isn't the Star-Spangled Man With a Plan. And what is your plan today?"

"I need the casualty list from Azzano."

The older man huffed a laugh. "You don't get to give me orders, son."

Steve grunted in frustration. "I just need one name. Sergeant James Barnes from the hundred and seventh."

Col. Phillips pointed to Peggy with a grim look on his face. "You and I are gonna have a conversation later that you won't enjoy."

"Please, tell me if he's alive, sir. B-A-R…"

"I can spell," the colonel said, rolling his eyes. "I have signed more of these condolence letters than I care to count. But the name does sound familiar. I'm sorry."

"What about the others?" Steve asked. "Are you planning a rescue mission?"

"Yeah! It's called winning the war. They're thirty miles behind the lines. Through the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We'd lose more men than we'd save! But I don't expect you to understand that because you're just a chorus girl."

Steve straightened up, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I think I understand just fine, sir."

"Well, then understand it somewhere else."

He grimaced and gave a tight node before leaving the tent. He didn't need his super hearing to know that Peggy was less than three steps behind him and when he felt her hand on his arm, he whirled around to face her. "What?" He snapped.

"What do you plan to do? Walk to Austria?" She bit out, her hands on her hips in exasperation.

"If that's what it takes."

"You heard the colonel, your friend is most likely dead – "

"You don't know that."

"Even so – "

"You told me that you thought I was meant for more than this," he said, gesturing to his costume. "Did you mean that?"

"Every word."

Steve took a deep breath. "Then help me get my best guy."

She seemed to weigh her options for a moment, her teeth worrying her red lip. It felt like an hour before she finally sighed. "Yes, all right. I'll contact Howard. He'll know what to do."

* * *

 **Be sure to leave a review.**

 **~Grace**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 _November 3, 1943 – Austria – HYDRA Weapon Facility_

It was cold. Not in the temperature way, more of a clinical way. Like how hospitals were always cold to help prevent the spread of disease.

Bucky wasn't sure how long he'd been kept in this same room. Doctors traipsed in and out at their leisure, sometimes jabbing a needle into his arm and sometimes just watching his teeth chatter. It was kind of how Darcy was the last time he saw her. Like she'd had a fever but was so icy cold that not even his or Steve's body heat could warm her back up. And it had been the middle of _summer_ in Brooklyn.

A loud crash had him calling out. "Hello? Anybody out there?"

He strained his hearing, trying – and failing – to hear through the steel door.

Memories swirled in his head. It was hard to differentiate what was real and what he'd made up inside his own head.

 _Bang_!

Bucky looked up from his place on the metal slab, his eyes noticing a small man in the doorway.

" _Sirena_ , _zapreshchat_."

A flurry of brown curls met his line of sight and he cringed when a blow landed against his cheek, his blue eyes watering.

"What in the fuck?"

" _Yeshche raz_."

Another strike and Bucky struggled to keep his eyes open. The world swam around him and he met the eyes of a girl. Familiar eyes.

"Darcy? _Baby_?" He tore against the restraints, trying to get to the woman, but she stepped back, a bit of fear in her posture.

" _Sirena_!"

He threw himself against the restraints, his voice raw and cracked as he struggled. "You leave her the fuck alone! Darcy! Look at me, baby. We gotta get outta here!"

She cocked her head to the side. " _Detka_?"

" _Sirena_ , now."

Another perfectly aimed punch had Bucky's eyes rolling back into his head as he slipped away.

"Bucky? Oh my God, Buck…"

Bucky wearily blinked open his eyes, struggling to search for the girl that was just there. _His_ girl.

"Where…where's my baby…"

"Bucky, it's me. It's Steve." The blond looked down at him in worry, unclasping the buckles that had kept him tied down. He sat him up and put an arm around his waist as he supported his weight with ease.

"Steve?" Bucky croaked, his head lolling back. "Where's Darcy?"

"I don't know, jerk… I thought you were dead."

"I thought you were smaller."

Steve grunted, hauling Bucky out of the room and down a narrow corridor. To the left, gunfire was blazing and the rest of the one-oh-seventh had been armed to take back the base. The blond just wanted to get back on the damned plane and somewhere safe. "Come on."

"What happened to you?"

"I joined the army," he quipped.

Bucky shook his head, groaning in pain when he did so. "Ya gotta get the doc, punk. He's got…he's got our girl. She's different now, but we gotta save her."

"Darcy…she's gone, Buck," Steve swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, holding Bucky just a little tighter. "Died in Honolulu – "

"I'm tellin' ya what I saw!" The brunet protested, coming to a stop and forcing Steve to stop along with him. "She's alive, Stevie. I _saw_ her. She…she hit me real good and then ya found me…"

Steve nodded. "Let's get ya back to base and then we'll talk."

"But she's – "

"Already gone, Bucky. We'll talk when we get there."

* * *

 _November 5, 1943 – Russia – HYDRA Facility_

"He recognized her."

Her handler met the eyes of the _Krasnyy Cherep_ , fear lingering behind his words. "They have never been acquainted – "

"He called her by name, no? And she… _hesitated_ when attacking – "

"Should she ever be compromised, we have _vyzov_ words that would reinforce her training – "

"I want her in the _krasnyy komnata_. Immediately."

 _Sirena_ kept her focus on her handler, reading his body language. It wasn't often that he was unsure of himself. But the _cherup_ had a way of making him a different man. Making him rethink his actions and his words to the point where she was sure of him anymore.

"The Red Room?" Her handler asked, appalled by the very idea. "She'll tear those girls apart. She's only been around men for her training; she's a loose cannon! She could decimate the entire structure – "

"It's best we learn what we can about her…personality before it becomes too late." He smirked, giving her a nasty look. "We've been injecting a few of the other girls with a lesser strain of what you gave her. They'll have the same abilities, but they still age, albeit much, _much_ slower."

* * *

 _December 15, 1943 – Russia_

Steve ripped off his suit with a huff, slinging his goggles against the wall of the tent. Boots met the same fate and he plopped down on his cot with a sigh.

"We gotta keep lookin'."

He groaned. "Do you have any idea how messed up you were when I got to you?" Steve asked, looking over at his best friend. He was covered in filth and dust from the crumbling HYDRA facility. "The Howling Commandos can't keep doin' this, Buck. We're chasin' after a ghost – "

"Why're'ya still wearin' the ring, then? If Darcy is just a ghost, why's it still on your hand?"

"Cause I can't get the damned thing off!"

Bucky recoiled as if he'd been hit. Hands scrubbed against his face and he sighed. It was a fight that was happening more and more. But he _knew_ what he saw. He knew his girl was still out there. "She's in trouble, Steve. The things they did…if they got her, then I want them all _dead_. Every last fuckin' one of them."

"Bucky – "

"If you don't wanna, that's _fine_ ," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "But I'm goin' after her. Through hell and high water, Darcy is our girl, _my_ girl. You didn't give up on me – "

"I haven't heard from Darcy since 1941! Since Pearl Harbor!"

"And they took her! A pretty dame like that was bound to get snatched up. And I'm gonna find her, punk. I'm not givin' up – "

"You think I _gave up_?" Steve stood and ripped a piece of paper out of his undershirt, tossing it at him. "I _never_ gave up."

Bucky looked at the faded picture of Darcy, tears forming in his eyes. It was the same picture that he had underneath his own vest, over his heart.

"If you really think she's out there, we'll find her," Steve promised, his chest heaving in anger. "One HYDRA facility at a time."

* * *

 _December 28, 1943 – Russia – The Red Room_

"You're new."

Her eyes met blue, similar to her own and she cocked her head. " _Da_."

"New girls do not last long."

 _Sirena_ studied the girl. She wasn't too young, maybe a bit younger than herself. Red curls and blue eyes, slight freckles, waifish body. She held herself with poise and if provoked could be lethal. Minimal threat. Befriend and betray. A grin cracked her lips. "I am new only to here, _myshka_. That means nothing."

The girl lunged, swiping her leg beneath _Sirena_ , which she dodged and flipped the former onto her back with ease, a boot pressed against her chest to keep her down.

"They…they call you _Sirena_." The girl huffed, pulling herself to her feet when she was freed. "I am Natalia."

"Pleasure to meet you… _Natalia_."

* * *

 _January 18, 1944 – Unknown Location_

"With me! We go in hot."

"We're goin' in blind, punk! That's not the best idea – "

Steve whirled around and grimaced at the look of his soldiers' faces. It was snowy and he knew that they were cold. The mountain was only providing so much cover after all. The metal wiring looked a little rickety at best and he could see the train in the distance.

Bucky looked at the wiring warily and back down to the equipment wrapped around his waist. He swallowed. "Remember when I made ya ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?"

The blond smiled at the memory. "Yeah, and I threw up?"

"This isn't payback, is it?"

Steve gave him a sly look. "Now, why would I do that?"

Gabe pushed his way to the front of the Commandos, a walkie-talkie in his hand. "Sergeant Barnes was right; Dr. Zola's on the train. HYDRA dispatcher gave him permission to open up the throttle. Wherever he's going, they must need him bad."

Bucky nodded. "Let's get movin', then."

"We only got about a 10-second window," Steve said, pointed to the train. "You miss that window, we're bugs on a windshield."

"Better get movin', bugs!" Dum Dum yelled.

It was a race against the time and the air bit into their skin like no other. Bucky barely managed to get his feet on the train when Steve was yelling at him to get down. A blast opened up the side of the train, causing Bucky to slip out.

"Bucky!"

"Fire again! Kill him!" Dr. Zola yelled at the troopers blocking the Howling Commandos path.

"Bucky! Hang on, grab my hand!"

"Steve!" Bucky was barely hanging on, his fingers slipping from the smooth metal of the train car.

The blond slid against the floor, wildly grasping for Bucky's hand. Gloves made gripping much harder and there were tears in his eyes as he fought for leverage to keep them both in the train.

"Steve! Find Darcy! Find our girl!"

"Bucky! Don't you dare let go!"

His grip faltered and Bucky fell into the vast emptiness below the train.

"Bucky! BUCKY! _BUCKY_!"

* * *

Steve watched the interrogation through the dirty glass of Howard's makeshift lab. Dr. Zola was different than other captives; more reserved, relaxed, _happy_. Col. Phillips was doing the questioning, but not getting much out of it. It was like a game of cat and mouse and the mouse was _winning_.

Bucky had died for Steve to be able to bring in this man. He believed that Dr. Zola was responsible for whatever had happened to Darcy. Steve wouldn't let his best friend die in vain.

"What are you planning?" Peggy asked him quietly, observing him. Tension was radiating from his body, his shoulders tight and unyielding.

"I need to speak with him."

She scoffed. "Col. Phillips will never allow that – "

"I'm a captain. I'll get what I want."

"I'll…make a few calls."

It wasn't long until Col. Phillips cleared out of the room with a harsh nod in his direction. Steve only took a few seconds to gather himself before he was strutting into the room, a grim set to his lips.

"Things are not as they seem, Captain Rogers."

Steve stilled for a moment, turning a curious eye to the man. "How do you know my name?"

Dr. Zola shrugged, adjusting his glasses. "I make it a priority to know my… _asset's_ potential adversaries."

"Schmidt…is your asset?"

"In a way."

Steve slammed his hands against the table between them, a truly feral look on his face. "I'm gonna find what you're hidin', doc."

"I count on it."

* * *

 _March 4, 1944 – Greenland_

"What have you done?" Schmidt cried, holding up the small blue cube and looking at it in horror. A stream of blue energy poured forwards, engulfing the red man and leaving nothing but ashes behind.

Steve blinked at the scene before he rushed to the plane's controls, his breath hitched as he realized the target is New York City. With a grimace, he reached for the radio. "Come in. This is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?"

"Captain Rogers, what is your – "

"Steve, is that you? Are you all right?"

"Peggy! Schmidt's dead," he replied, his voice somewhat stable.

"What about the plan? The Valkyrie?"

He looked around. If the plan made it to New York, the entire city would be obliterated. Options weren't something he had in abundance. "That's a little harder to explain."

"What are your coordinates? I'll find a safe place for you to land."

"There's not going to be a safe landing," he said, shaking his head. "But I can try to force it down."

"I'll-I'll get Howard on the line, he'll know what to do."

"There's not enough time. This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York. I gotta put her in the water."

"Please, please don't do this! We can work it out – "

"Peggy…this is my choice." Steve sighed, pulling the faded photograph of Darcy out of his suit and placing it near the gauges on the dash. Taking a deep breath, he pushed down on the controls, watching the clouds zoom past him as the plane nosedived. His eyes were drawn to Darcy, hoping that he'd finally get to see her and Bucky again.

Finding Darcy in Russia was a pipedream. Deep down, he knew that Bucky had only imagined seeing her. He'd been busted up real bad when Steve had found him and there was no way their girl could've done that.

But _he_ could do this. He could spare New York.

His death would not be meaningless, not when there was _so_ much to save.

"Peggy?"

"I'm here," came her voice through the scratch of the radio.

"Thank you…for everything."

There's a pause and Steve swears he hears a sniffle. "You're welcome, Captain. I…I hope you find her."

His eyes met the chunks of ice waiting to greet him and he gritted his teeth, preparing for impact.

"Me, too, Peggy," he said mostly to himself, "Me, too."

* * *

 _October 3, 1949 – Russia – The Red Room_

" _Sirena_! We have a new _igrushka_."

Natalia floated down from the rafters, landing on her feet with a barely-there thud. She looked down at the girl she had come to see as her sister. _Sirena_ was the only one that didn't leave, didn't abandon her. Six years and she still remained.

"Oh? What if it's not a toy for you, Natalia? There are other girls that need practice." _Sirena_ smirked, looking down at the mats and noticing the bulk of someone new. "Or, what if he is your handler? You're of age to have one, no?"

Natalia sat up indignantly. "What if he's _your_ handler?"

"I have a handler, _myshka_. He sent me here. I…I was much different before here. I imagine when I'm released, it will be different, too."

"You'll leave?"

It was an unspoken promise that she would never leave Natalia if she could help it, but her conditioning couldn't be overridden. If her handler came for her, she would go willingly.

" _Sirena_! Natalia!"

Both girls stood at attention, swinging down from their place by the window and onto the mats below, their faces clear of emotion. _Sirena_ held her body loosely, ready for anything while Natalia was crouched like a tiger.

" _Soldat_."

The man snapped his feet together, his hands at his sides.

" _Povernis_."

 _Sirena_ took in his battle stance as he turned, her eyes catching the glint of metal where his left arm should be.

Man. Maximum threat. Two firearms. Three blades. Metal extremity that has potential for weaponry. Weak spots undetermined.

The steel of the blade was cold against her thigh, but she didn't reach for it. This was a test, to see how Natalia interacted with this… _Soldat_.

Crisp blue eyes met hers and her brows furrowed. Something was familiar. Something she couldn't place. Suddenly, she knew that his weak spot was just above his left hip, underneath his ribs.

Why would she know that?

"Natalia. _Soldat_ is to become your handler. After your graduation. You'll do great things for mother Russia."

* * *

 _April 9, 1950 – Unknown Location_

" _Priyekhat, Sirena_."

One foot in front of the other. The door to the North, the command front and center. Eyes forward, chink of her gun against her left hip.

" _Prigotov'sya_."

At attention. Boots together. Breathe in. Breathe out.

" _Novaya missiya, Sirena._ Berlin _skomprometirovany_."

Compromised.

Focus on black boots, following up steep stairs.

New room. Three civilians, one commander. Minimal risk.

" _I wandered so aimless, heart filled with sin_."

Noise.

Radio in right hand corner of room, wireless. Next to a window. Civilian One is tapping her foot, heels clicking against the floor.

"This is it, _Sirena_. You must not fail."

A new folder, documents of target.

" _I saw the light, I saw the light. No more darkness, no more night_."

A flicker, something new. A feeling? _Steve_ …

" _Sirena_."

" _Tselevaya summa_."

"Excellent."

* * *

 _April 2, 1952 – New York City, New York_

It's like coming out of the ocean after diving in. Like a long awaited breath when air seemed to escape. Memories crashing over your mind and you just sputter into existence with no recollection of how you got there.

"Ma'am, are ya all right?"

Her eyes blinked open and she saw a man in his late fifties looking over her with concern. " _Da, da. Spasibo_."

"Sorry, ma'am, I don't speak whatever you're speakin'," he said apologetically as he helped her sit up. "You're lucky that car just knocked ya over. Coulda been a lot worse."

"Car?"

"Ya were crossin' the street. Damned thing came outta nowhere. Ya need me to call anyone? I can get ya to the hospital – "

"No!" She said more forcefully than she intended. She swallowed her nerves and gave him a smile. "No, that won't be necessary. Thank you."

She's not sure how far or how long she walked, all she knew was that she was standing in front of an old market that had long since closed. There was a foreclosure sign on the window and a weathered paper from the bank nailed to the door that was dated 1946. Reaching blindly, she snagged the key from the underside of the molding along the door, unlocking it and slipping inside before she could think better of it – or wonder how in the hell she knew it was there.

Blue eyes took in the scene, trying to piece together the sense of familiarity that had been invoked in her very bones. Papers were scattered across the till and she looked them over keenly.

 _Barnes, Joseph._

 _Barnes, James Buchanan._

Her hands stilled. That name…but it wasn't quite right.

 _The last will and testament of James 'Bucky' Buchanan Barnes_.

She knows she shouldn't read it. She knew it wass none of her business what those poor people went through by losing their business. She _knows_. But she can't stop either.

 _I, James Buchanan Barnes, leave all of my earthly possessions to my fiancée, Darcy Marie Lewis. In the bank of…_

She couldn't read it. The man hadn't even been married and left his fiancée all of his things. And Darcy…that name seemed natural. Normal. Like she'd heard it a thousand times over.

But she couldn't remember. It…her life was like a line she was struggling to hold onto and it just kept going out to sea.

The honk of an automobile outside made her jump in surprise and, before she thought any better of it, she stuffed the papers into her messenger bag and skirted out of the store.

* * *

 _May 3, 1952 – New York City, New York_

It wasn't hard to get a job. She had done it relatively easily after forging a birth certificate and a social security card – _when the hell did I learn to do that_? – and she found herself working at Stark Industries under one Howard Stark.

She was a secretary of sorts, making sure everything was filed properly and in its right place. In a matter of a month, she'd secured an apartment in Brooklyn, had a fine paying job, a rented locker that held what she'd swiped from the market, and she even had a running commentary going with a few of the people that popped in and out of the office.

"Ms. Barnes, is my ten o'clock here?"

She smiled up at the man and glanced down at her calendar. "Mr. Quigley will be arriving in about ten minutes. His secretary called and said he was stuck in traffic. Would you like me to postpone, Mr. Stark?"

"No, no, that'll be fine, Ms. Barnes."

"Oh, Mr. Stark, a Ms. Carter has scheduled an appointment for tomorrow," she said, not missing how the man cringed. "Is that all right?"

He nodded curtly. "Perfect."

* * *

 _"Darcy, baby, come back to me."_

 _She looked up and smiled at Bucky's full mouth, how his lips were stretched wide when he'd seen her._

 _"I can't, Buck. I don't know where I am."_

 _He grimaced, reaching his hand for her. "I'll keep ya safe, baby. We gotta find Stevie. Ya know he's always gettin' into trouble without me."_

 _"Bucky – "_

 _"I gotta go, baby. Wait for me."_

She woke up in a cold sweat, her sheets plastered against her body. It wasn't the first time she dreamt about a man with blue eyes and dark hair. Or a man with blond hair and blue eyes. They were like memories that she couldn't piece together. That her mind was allowing her to remember in bits and pieces.

Darcy's eyes traveled to the alarm clock on her nightstand and she plucked herself out of bed.

She'd swiped the name from the will. She had managed to become Darcy Barnes in a matter of a month and no one was any wiser. She was trying to put her life back together, or, rather, what she remembered of her life.

Her birth date, her parents, her home. Nothing stood out or made sense. She thought her name was Darcy since it seemed so familiar. She thought that Brooklyn was her home because she seemed to know all the shortcuts to get to where she wanted to go.

She'd tried the library to look up the names in her dreams, but was always coming up short. Records of the war were well guarded and she was definitely not important enough to have access.

Sighing, she pinned back her curls and pulled on a simple green shift dress before making her way to work.

* * *

"Agent Carter for Mr. Stark, please."

Darcy looked up and smiled at the red-lipped woman. "Of course, Agent Carter. One moment, please."

Agent Carter looked at her oddly. "You…you look like someone I've met before."

The blue-eyed woman cocked her head, a smile plastered on her face. "I'm new. I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you. My name is Darcy. Darcy Barnes."

"Not Rogers?" The agent said so lowly that Darcy _shouldn't_ have been able to hear.

"Definitely Barnes, ma'am."

* * *

 _July 23, 1955 – Brooklyn, New York_

Darcy shut the door tight behind her. It was becoming a strange routine.

Every night after leaving the office, she felt as if someone was watching her, waiting for her. She'd hoped that the feeling would pass, but it simply became worse.

Her eyes flitted around her apartment, taking stock.

Three pairs of shoes by the door. One coat hung up behind the door. Two glasses sitting in the sink. Right corner of blanket folded down on the bed. Closet door – _ajar_.

Someone had been there.

Without letting anything show, Darcy made her way to the kitchen, tugging out a small knife out of reflex. Reflex she didn't understand.

" _Sirena_."

"Natalia."

It was spoken with reverence. Like a prayer, like a _plea_.

"It is time to come home. You've played long enough."

Darcy shook her head. "I don't…I don't remember."

Natalia watched her carefully, seeing the knife in her hand. "It's part of your programming. You can't remember what was before, but you remembered _me_. Your _myshka_."

She looked at the woman in front of her. She looked to be in her twenties, with red hair and a straight nose. Her clothes reflected privilege and she carried herself dangerously. Darcy wasn't sure how she knew her, but she _did_.

"I don't want to go."

Natalia pursed her lips. "They've known where you are. This has been an…experiment. I am tasked with bringing you back – "

"I don't want to go back!"

"Russia is your home! You think because you've built a life for yourself that this is your _home_?" Natalia snarled, grabbing Darcy by the shoulder and barely managing to dodge her knife. " _Sirena_ , stop! I take you in or _Soldat_ does."

"No!"

"I will wipe you if necessary."

Darcy kicked her square in the chest, ducking under her arm and racing out the front door. She'd made a life before, she could make one again. Tearing the door open, she looked back at Natalia once more before rushing forward, smacking into a familiar bulk.

" _Sirena_."

Darcy looked up and shook her head, tears forming in her blue eyes. "No, please! No, I don't want to go back! Leave me alone!"

" _Kamen_."

Darcy jolted. Her fingers dug into the metal and flesh of the _Soldat_ 's arms. His hands were on his waist and he was clutching instead of restraining.

" _Sem'ya_."

"Please," she whispered, trying to find a bit of humanity in the handler. "Please let me go."

He groaned, low and deep. " _Detka_."

" _Ogon. Chernila. Rassvet. Grom. Lenta. Shestnadtsat_."

She screamed, loud and long. Tears leaked from her eyes as her body fought against her.

" _Tsirk. Platit_."

The part of her that was Darcy, the part that she'd rediscovered was locked away. A prisoner in her own body. A captive.

" _Soldat_ ," Natalia paused, catching sight of a single tear that had made it's way down his face, "Let's go."

* * *

 **Be sure to leave a review!**

 **~Grace**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

 _April 25, 1959 – Russia – KGB Headquarters_

"They can be used together. They would be lethal."

The board looked around at each other, contemplating.

"Mr. Pierce, what you suggest is…"

"A way to clear out our enemies," the man in question replied. "To protect our country and influence others. It's a step in the right direction, I assure you."

"And these… _assets_ are cleared for work?"

Mr. Pierce smiled viciously. " _Soldat_ and _Sirena_ will be a dynamic duo."

* * *

 _May 24, 1959 – Washington, D.C._

" _Prinyataya missiya_."

 _Sirena_ met _Soldat_ 's eyes. " _My sobirayemsya_."

"Now," _Soldat_ said, handing her the handle of a blade which she tucked against the flesh of her thigh, pulling down the dress to cover it.

It was a large building, almost too large. Five entrances on the main floor, three elevators, one stairwell. Security posted at each entry with academy issued pistols that weren't good for long range.

Heels clicked against the tile of the building, her shoulders back and her head held high to avoid suspicion. She stepped into the elevator and gave a small smile to the operator.

"Which floor, ma'am."

"Nineteen, please."

As soon as the doors shut, she hopped on the man's back, catching him in a chokehold as _Soldat_ dropped down from the vent. His knife cleanly sliced through the operator's jugular and _Soldat_ swept _Sirena_ off her feet to avoid the blood.

She made herself comfortable with her butt rested on his flesh arm, her arm thrown around his neck to keep steady.

"Secretary of State?"

 _Soldat_ nodded sharply. "Use a knife. If you can't, shoot." His hand grazed the knife strapped to her and she shivered.

 _"Again!"_

 _Sirena raised her gun and shot, missing the mark by more than a few inches. The sharp pain of the whip bit into her back and she muffled a scream. Her back was more of a bloody mess than skin any longer and she gritted her teeth when she missed again._

 _"The Soldat would be a better choice for the shooting range, no? Sirena…is more apt with knives."_

 _Soldat cracked the whip and watched the other asset with interest. "She will learn."_

"Knives, _Sirena_."

" _Da_."

* * *

"When is the extraction?"

 _Soldat_ looked up from cleaning his knives. "Dawn. Be prepared."

She sat and pulled out her own knives, which were promptly taken from her for cleaning. Huffing, she grabbed the pistols, popping the one in the chamber and systematically dissembling them for proper cleaning.

She glanced upwards, stealing a look at him.

"You know me."

 _Soldat_ smiled. "I've known you since the Red Room, _Sirena_. You and Natalia."

"No, before that."

"There is no before."

Her brows furrowed. She remembered something, but when she tried to grab onto it, it unraveled. Cursing in frustration, she set about cleaning the gun more vigorously than she would normally do.

" _Sirena_ – "

She reassembled one of the guns and tossed it on the table between them with a sharp _clank_. Her eyes met his and she sneered. "You _know_ me."

"No more than I know myself."

"Stop!" She huffed. "I know you do."

"You sure about that?"

 _"Ya sure 'bout this, baby?"_

She jolted, her eyes flashing to him. She remembered his hands on her skin, his sweat soaked body. The way he made her _scream_.

 _"Fuck, Darcy."_

 _Small hands smoothed their way up his ribs and around his back as her thighs cradled his hips, pulling him even deeper._

 _"James."_

She wasn't sure what made her do it, but she lunged at him, knocking the knives to the side like they were nothing. Her mouth found his and she latched on like he was her air supply.

" _Sirena_!"

She pulled back, looking at him with wide eyes. "Please. _Please_."

It was easy to get themselves out of the clothes they were wearing. It was easy for him to slide her panties down her legs and clutch at her hips like it was a dance they'd done a million times before.

She swung her leg over his lap and felt him fill her to the hilt, causing her to let out a breathy sigh that had him flipping her onto her back and slamming his cock inside her with all his strength.

" _Chertov ad_!"

Her release crested against her and she whimpered out a small, " _James_."

* * *

 _February 17, 1961 – Unknown Location_

"Grab her!"

 _Sirena_ jumped out of the cramped bed, her eyes taking in the threat as she felt _Soldat_ move her behind him and growl at the men that were filling their small cell.

" _Soldat_. Stand down."

" _Ve ne mozhete vzyat' yeye_."

His handler approached him with caution, his hands held up in surrender. "We don't wish to take _Sirena_. She needs to go to medical. There is an…unforeseen issue."

 _Soldat_ 's hand wound around her waist from behind, feeling the small nudging that he'd been protecting for the past few months. His blue eyes were feral as he backed the both of them into the corner. His eyes looked wildly for an escape.

" _Zhelaniye_."

 _Soldat_ jerked, cramming himself tighter into the corner, squishing _Sirena_ in the process. "No! NO!"

" _Rzhavvy. Semnadsat. Rassvet. Pech. Nin._ "

 _Sirena_ whimpered, her hand clutching his side. " _James_."

He roared, charging at the men as his handler rattled off his trigger words.

" _Gruzovoy avtomobil_."

 _Soldat_ stood stock still, staring blankly ahead. His hands were at his sides, covered in blood from the men that had threatened his _Sirena_. His _detka_.

" _Soldat_. Return to the _morozilka_."

She watched in fear as he left her, her hand cradling her stomach protectively. The handler tilted his head as he looked at her.

"This might be useful."

* * *

 _April 23, 1961 – Unknown Location_

Medical room. One entrance. Two civilians, one handler. Restraints around wrists and ankles, metal bracelets unmoved. Thirty-percent strength to snap restraints. Fifteen-second window to incapacitate threats in room.

"It's a miracle she carried the child this far, Mr. Pierce."

Her handler glanced at her, disgust on his face. "She cannot carry a child to term?"

The doctor reviewed the chart that was handed to him by his assistant. He clicked his tongue and sighed. "The strain of serum that she was injected with leaves her body in stasis. Her body doesn't change, therefore accommodating a child is out of the question."

"Is there a way to alter the serum that she received?"

"Not without possibly killing her. I – ah – believe she is most valuable as she is."

 _Sirena_ cringed. Her stomach had been flat when she awoke and that meant her child was gone. Her handler scowled at her and she ducked her head.

"It wouldn't have been a problem if the other asset wasn't as attached to her as he is," her handler grumbled. He ran his hand through his hair. "Is there a way to ensure she does not breed?"

"Sterilization is the only way, but – "

"No, no. Her original handler had forbidden the _krasnyy komnata_ from doing it. I won't go against his wishes."

The doctor shuffled, sending his assistant out of the room and looking at her handler in concern. "The…asset. He's been secured, yes?"

"After his misadventure around the facility trying to find _her_ ," he jerked his chin towards her in revulsion, "He refused to cooperate. The only option we had was the wipe his memories. He…broke free of conditioning for a small while. I plan on putting them back together after we do the same to her. But…they deserve some separation first, no?"

* * *

 _December 6, 1963 – London, United Kingdom_

Blood pooled around her feet and she daintily sidestepped it, taking off towards her next target.

Three entrances. Ten civilians. Target _acquired_.

She ripped the blade from her thigh and sent it soaring through the air, hitting its mark nearly forty yards away. Three civilians were sent flying with a sweep of her arm, glass breaking behind them as they made their way out the window.

The wounded man pitifully tried to drag himself away, leaving a smear of blood along the white marble of the floor. Grabbing his ankle, she hauled him back, removing her blade from his back and flipping him over with ease.

"Please! My-my family – "

" _Net sem'i_ ," she said, taking the blade and plunging it through his heart in one swift move.

* * *

" _Sirena_."

She stood, her body moving effortlessly to her handler's side.

"You have done well. More than fifty targets have met their end by your hand."

She nodded curtly. " _Da_."

He looked her over, a smile on his mouth. "Go rest. You have a big day tomorrow."

* * *

 _March 5, 1969 – Russia – KGB Facility_

Checking the perimeter was becoming a tedious job. It was a way to check her programming. Make sure she wasn't going to malfunction.

Five doors on the left, two on the right. All secured.

Twenty feet forward, turn left and three – _door two is ajar_.

Hand on her pistol, back rigid in fighting stance.

A shoulder to the door, her pistol raised as she took inventory.

Three civilians. Minimal threat. One chamber releasing.

Her head cocked to the side as she watched the glass shield come up, revealing a man that was sputtering and gasping for breath.

Blue eyes. Dark hair. Metal extremity.

 _Soldat_.

The doctor released his restraints and he slumped forward.

 _Sirena_ lunged into action, throwing the doctor against the wall and leaving a man-sized dent as she rounded on the other two. A pistol was aimed at her head, but she grabbed it, a bullet finding itself in her thigh. Yowling in pain, she kicked the second in the stomach, watching him fly through the air as she rounded on the third. A blade found its way into his neck before she was tackled to the ground.

" _Stoyat_!"

She squirmed, recognizing the bulk. The back of her head collided with his nose and he slammed her face into the ground.

" _STOYAT_!"

"Get off of me!" She yelled back, banging her fist against the ground.

" _Soldat_! _Idi syuda_."

The weight was gone from her back and she looked at the doorway, seeing her handler. Her feet were under her before she knew that she had stood.

"What an excellent reunion, _Sirena_. Aren't you glad to have _Soldat_?" He barked a laugh. " _Soldat_. Restrain her."

* * *

 _May 14, 1974 – Canada_

"Get back up, _detka_. We are not finished yet."

She huffed, getting back on her feet and shaking out her limbs. The floor had met her body too many times during the sparring match and she needed to get him on his back already.

"Tired?" _Soldat_ gloated.

It had been five years of traveling the Canadian countryside, tracking down people that had fled from the KGB and making sure they were never heard from again.

 _Sirena_ was tired. _Soldat_ was exhilarated.

" _Detka_ – "

She swung her leg under his feet, watching with joy as he crumpled to the ground. Straddling his chest, she brought a dummy blade down against his neck and smirked. "Trouble, _milaya_? Do you need help?"

He flipped their positions. Suddenly, his bulk was nestled between her thighs and she looked up at him with doe eyes. "I think you're the one in need of help, _detka_."

" _Soldat_ ," she whispered, dropping the dummy weapon and tangling her fingers in his hair instead.

Their mouths met in a crash of violence and beauty.

It wasn't until he was buried inside her that she blinked away the fog that clouded her mind. Pieces of memory came to the forefront of her mind and she whimpered as every thrust brought her closer to remembering.

"You are not _Soldat_ ," she whined, grinding her hips up to meet his. "You are _James_."

He growled, forcing himself deeper. " _Sirena_ … _detka_ … _baby_."

She screamed. Coming apart beneath him with a shudder that left them both winded. He rolled onto his back, pulling her onto his chest and stroking her hair.

"Baby…" he kept whispering, lulling her to sleep on the sweat-soaked mat.

She sighed. "James."

* * *

Sunlight hit her cheek and she flinched, trying to find a blanket to cover her face, but coming up empty. Her blue eyes cracked open and she surveyed the room, seeing that James was nowhere in sight.

She had to move fast. She'd seen first hand the kind of destruction that the _Soldat_ could do when he was angry. And if they decided to wipe him…

Jumping up, she gathered a bag and threw in the basics before shouldering it.

Her eyes did a sweep of the small, rundown room once more before she vanished out the door.

* * *

 _June 11, 1975 – Michigan_

"Ms. Rogers, can you help get the new recruits settled?"

Darcy looked up from the corset of her costume, setting down her needle and thread. "Of course, sir."

It had been a stroke of luck when she ended up in a circus. She remembered something from her life before, but it was hazy. The more she worked as a stagehand and a performer, the more came back to her. Bits and pieces of Brooklyn and New York, her boys – who she _thought_ were her boys – and the way she interacted with people. Sometimes, when she wasn't paying attention, her accent would slip out and she'd have to catch herself. When people asked where she was from, she skirted the question as much as possible.

Darcy was…not home, but she was one her way.

* * *

 _April 14, 1981 – Des Moines, Iowa_

The cans near the garbage tinkled and Darcy poked her head out of her train car, a crease between her eyebrows. Pointe shoes in hand, she stepped out of her makeshift room and padded across the soft dirt. A head of dirty-blond hair caught her attention, nestled next to the garbage cans. He was small, dirty, and her heart ached in an unfamiliar way.

Coming to terms with her past had been hard. Writing things down had helped; she made a timeline of what she remembered, _who_ she remembered. It was difficult, but she'd managed to piece together her past like pieces of broken glass. Some things were still missing, but the more she tried, the easier it got.

The orphanage was on her mind as she looked at the dirty child. Had she looked like that? She liked to think that she hadn't.

"Move it, soldier."

The small kid jumped violently, looking up at her with green eyes. "Please don't turn me in."

Hands on her hips, she smiled down at him. "C'mon, honey. I'm sure I have something warm for you to eat."

* * *

 _September 21, 1981 – Raleigh, North Carolina_

"Clint! Come in here!"

The small kid popped into the makeshift mess hall, a bright smile on his face. "Yeah, Ms. Darcy?"

"Can you run some water to the elephants? Frankie needs some help and – "

"Yes, ma'am!"

He was out of the tent before she could even say any more.

"That's a good kid ya got there," the cook, Mary, said with an easy smile. "He yours? Mind ya, ya look too young to have a kid his age."

Darcy smiled. She'd taken Clint in without hesitation, accepting him with open arms. He'd become a bit of a hit around the circus. He was making a name for himself just as she had – she'd went back to fire eating – and she swelled up with pride.

He was going by 'The Amazing Hawkeye', a hell of a shot and he was making money for the circus just as she was. They were a hell of a pair.

Clint shared her train car and her life. She stopped asking about his home, about why he ran away. Darcy accepted that he'd come into her life for a reason and she welcomed him with open arms.

"Nah, he's not mine," she finally replied, smiling after the kid. "But he might as well be. Don't know how I got by without him."

Mary laughed, a full-bellied laugh that had Darcy chuckling right along with her. "That's what all new parents say. Got a kid of my own in California somewhere. I know she's safe and that's enough for me."

"He's safe," she said quietly, mostly to herself.

They belonged to each other. She remembered how Steve and Bucky would get into a scrape around the neighborhood and how they'd always be in trouble somehow. Clint helped fill that void a little. And a little in her mind was a lot. She'd taken to keeping a journal. It was helpful to try and get a timeline of what had happened, what her life was really about. Everything she remembered – even if she wasn't sure that it was a memory – was written down so she could organize it at a later date.

She'd figure this out. She had to.

* * *

 _October 13, 1989 – Tampa, Florida_

"Your words are under there, aren't they?" Clint asked, sharpening the knife he was holding loosely in his left hand. He'd learned he was just as good with knives – after Darcy had shown him a few things – as he was with a bow.

Darcy liked to think that the past eight years had been full of love and comfort, but she knew she was kidding herself. The carnival – it wasn't even technically a _circus_ – paid them only when they complained enough and had a seedy circuit that sometimes meant they slept outside. She hadn't hesitated in taking Clint under her wing, though. Extra food and warm clothes always found a way into the small pack he had. She made sure that the knees of his pants were always sewn instead of torn and it was nice having someone to take care of.

It was odd seeing the scrawny, blond ten-year-old grow up in front of her while she stayed the same. He looked older than her now; he was shaving and his skin was tanned from the sun. They looked like siblings with him as the _older_ brother.

Clint was good at his trade and he'd managed to hone it even more with time. She could remember pieces of the Red Room, remember how they'd tried to get her to shoot a gun and she was piss poor at best, always inches from the mark. Knives were her forte and she'd taught Clint everything she knew.

"Dee?"

She looked up from the sequins she was sewing onto the small pair of shorts in her hands. The next show wasn't for a few days, but she'd wanted to make her clothes a bit flashier. He'd always managed to give her a different name that Darcy for some reason, still using Darcy, of course, but he liked variation. Setting the needle down, she gave him a brief smile. "Yes?"

"Your words," he said, his brows furrowed, "They're under those bracelets, aren't they?"

"Yes," she repeated easily. She didn't feel the need to hide anything from him.

"What do they say?"

Darcy huffed. "You can't just go around asking people what their words say. It's not proper."

"But – "

"Don't 'but' me, Clinton Barton. I know I raised you better than that."

Clint rolled his eyes, sheathing his blade. "That's the problem, Darce. You _raised_ me. I'm eighteen, now. And you…you haven't aged a single day." He ran his hand through his blond hair. "It doesn't make sense. You're crazy smart with weapons – you can strip a damned rifle in twenty seconds flat! – and you never tell me anything 'bout yourself. Except that you're not from here. Well, wherever _here_ happens to be at the moment I ask."

"Some things are easier to keep buried," she said softly, rubbing one of the metal bracelets gently. Her memories came and went. Sometimes she could remember that she was Darcy Lewis from Brooklyn, New York. Sometimes she remembered losing her virginity to Steve Rogers in his cramped bed while his mother was at work. Other times she could scarcely remember her favorite color – green, by the way – and it was frustrating. Her journal helped, but there was still _so much_ missing.

Here, at the carnival, she was Darcy Rogers from Boise, Idaho. She was quick with a match and had wit that wouldn't quit. She was adored by the carnies and crowd alike and Clint nearly worshipped the ground she walked on.

"Aren't you tired of burying things?"

"It's not that simple – "

"Tell me 'bout it!" He all but growled, getting to his feet and towering over her. "Imagine how frustrating it was to run away from home so my pa would stop beatin' me and end up at a fuckin' carnival where the first lady I see says _my words_."

Darcy jolted. His green eyes were pained and she inhaled sharply. She didn't have a comeback for this, didn't have a way to placate him. It surprised the daylights out of her.

"You said my words," he repeated, his voice fracturing. "And you never gave me a second look – "

"I took you in – "

" – _like you wanted me_."

Her heart broke. It was…a miscommunication. Not a match, not a slight. She remembered that something like that had happened. To someone she knew? To _her_? She couldn't remember clearly.

"I'm old enough to be your mother – "

"You sure as hell don't look it! When people see us together, they ask how I got such a pretty piece like you. Don't you understand how weird it is to say she's my mom?" He groaned and collapsed onto the ground in front of her, his head in his hands. "I want to fuck my mom. How fucking messed up is that?"

Darcy sighed. "There're things you don't understand, Clint. Things _I_ don't even understand yet – "

"If you're talkin' 'bout your diary, you can save it. I've read it cover to cover at least a dozen times." At her look of anger, he held up his hands in surrender. "Look, I wanted to know what was goin' on! According to that thing, you're like…seventy-two. How is that possible?"

"I don't know."

A knock on their trailer door caused them both to jump.

"Rehearsal's in five. Don't be late!"

Clint stood and dusted his pants off. "This isn't over. We're havin' a conversation tonight."

Darcy clenched her teeth and gave a curt nod.

* * *

Her hands shook. Coffee sloshed out of the mug she was holding and she cursed under her breath at the heat against the back of her hand. She didn't really want to be talking to Clint about everything – she didn't want to be talking in _general_. It seemed like she didn't have a choice, however, when Clint swung into their trailer and closed the door behind him instead of leaving it open like they normally did.

His feet were propped up on the table and he snagged an apple off the counter of the kitchenette before he leveled his green eyes at her. "So."

The coffee mug clattered against the table when she set it down with more force than necessary. "You read everything?" She clarified, eying him.

"Every word."

Darcy shrugged. "Then you know as much as I do. I was born in Brooklyn in 1917. I was brought up in an orphanage and sold newspapers on a street corner. I had a – "

"Threesome."

" – _polyamorous_ relationship with two men. I attended the Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet for…a year before my memory becomes fuzzy." Her brows creased and she looked down at her small hands, still shaking. "I…I remember a doctor. A small man with cruel eyes. He took an interest in me and I didn't…I didn't feel comfortable. One of their mothers died when I was home for the summer. Her funeral was small and…I bought flowers from a florist in New Jersey. Lilies. The apartment was so small that it smelt of them for days…

"When I returned to Russia, it was different. I don't remember what happened that clearly. I was…I was beaten. They used electric shock therapy on me. I could _smell_ my skin burning when they…" she shuddered, her blue eyes filling with tears. "They wanted to take my memories. Make me forget. I didn't," Darcy shook her head. "I didn't forget."

"Darcy, I changed my mind. You don't have to tell me anythin'." Clint reached out and stilled her hands, holding them within his own. His heart ached at how he'd pushed her. He had no reason to, no reason to _hurt_ her like this.

She nodded. "I have to tell you. You deserve to know."

"What's the _krasnyy ko – "_

"I-it's a place," she whispered, eyes haunted. There was a man in the Red Room, too, but she couldn't place him. Couldn't remember him. "A place for young girls to…to train to become…to become a weapon. Like me."

"You're _not_ a weapon – "

"I can find ten different ways to kill you with a shoelace, Clint. A _shoelace_. I was taught how to shoot, how to throw knives with vicious accuracy, how to _kill_. I can strip guns and reassemble them without blinking. I scan perimeters, evaluate situations; I can fight my way out of almost anything." She sighed, squeezing his hands gently. "Being here, with _you_ , has forced me to slow down, to try to remember everything that was taken from me."

Clint stood and practically collapsed onto his knees next to her chair. His hands were on her bare knees as he searched her eyes, looking for something, but she didn't know what. A few tears clung to his long lashes and she had to resist the urge to brush them away as she had done so often when he was just a child.

"My words aren't your words, are they?" His voice was small, unsure.

Her teeth bit into her bottom lip as she shook her head. "No. My words…my words are a little different. From a different time, a different Darcy entirely. As of now, I'm matchless, I'd think. One of the men…he made these bracelets for me. I can't get them off, I've _tried_. When your soul mate dies, the words…they turn white, _transparent_." She couldn't remember how she'd known that, but she knew it was true.

"And you can't see your words," he concluded, his look one of pity. His hand brushed her cheek and he cupped it delicately. "You don't know." He shook his head. "I can try. We can see if we can find 'em – "

"I'm a ghost, Clint. There's no one alive that would remember me." She angrily wiped at the tears cascading down her cheeks. It was so much harder to say out loud than she had expected. "I was a tool. A… _weapon_ for HYDRA. For the KGB! Darcy Lewis doesn't exist anymore. Darcy Lewis was gone the moment she stepped on that plane to Russia." Loud sobs wracked her body as she realized the weight of her words.

"Awh, Darcy, no – "

"I'm never going to see them again," she whimpered, "I'm never going to come home to them. Our dreams, our plans, they're gone, Clint! My entire life is gone and now I'm just – just stuck! I'm not getting older, but I'm so _tired_.

"I'm tired of watching my back. I'm so tired of it all. I want to be Darcy Lewis. Just one more time. One more time before this is all over."

"Don't you dare talk like that," Clint scolded, a tick in his jaw. "You can be whoever you wanna be. Darcy Lewis, Rogers, _Barton_. It's up to you. Choose your life and _live it_."

"What's the point of living if I don't have them?"

* * *

 _November 2, 1989 – Oklahoma City, Oklahoma_

It was like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Darcy was constantly looking over her shoulder, expecting something – some _one_ to be chasing her – but she knew that she looked paranoid to Clint. And Clint, bless his heart, was doing his very best to look after her. He would walk around the camp at night, make sure that there was no one lurking. He'd wrap his arm around her waist and duck her head under his chin when she started shaking.

It seemed to be second nature the way he took care of her, watched her. It was endearing.

It was late and they'd just finished a show. Darcy had slipped during her performance and had fallen, landing hard on her hip, but continuing to perform after disguising her slip up as a tuck and roll. Pride prevented her from allowing Clint to carry her back to the trailer, but he followed close behind her.

He'd had enough when she was trying to slip her sequined shorts off and huffing in frustration. In two strides he was across the small trailer and kneeling in front of her, wiggling the skintight fabric over her hips and down her thighs. Small hands fluttered to his broad shoulders as she stepped out of them, leaving her in a small pair of pale blue panties and an oversized tank top.

Clint's mouth became dry as he peered up at her from his place on the floor. His rough hands trailed up her outer thighs and he had to swallow the lump in his throat. "You're so beautiful."

"Clint – "

"I'm not gonna act on it, Darcy. But that doesn't mean I don't want to." With a lingering look to her legs, he stood, his shoulders hunched slightly. "As much as I want to take you to bed and wake up next to you, I know it's not an option. We don't match. You're not mine." He sighed, his hand cupping her cheek sweetly. "You're not _mine_."

She laughed deprecatingly. "I'm not even mine, Clint. One day…one day I'm going to disappear from here, from _you_. I don't know when it'll be, but I know it'll happen." Her arms went around his waist, pulling them so that they were chest to chest, flush against each other. Her eyes closed when his lips pressed against her forehead and she sighed. "I've never spent so long doing one thing. They could find me."

"I won't let them take you," he vowed, his green eyes boring into hers.

She sniffled. "You won't have a choice. They…they have these words that can control me. I don't stand a chance if they find me."

His breath caught in his throat. She was so beautiful, so young. It wasn't fair that she could be taken from him at any time and there wouldn't be anything he could do about it. Tears clung to her long lashes and her nose was pink from crying. "Darcy – "

Her lips met his in a soft collision. It wasn't romantic, it wasn't passionate. It was more like a goodbye without the ache of absence.

"Spending time with you was one of the best times of my life," she whispered when she pulled away.

"Don't say it like you're sayin' goodbye," he panted harshly. Her face was cradled in his hands as she shook her head. "Don't leave me, Darcy. I can't lose you."

"I don't have a choice."

* * *

 _January 18, 1990 – Ypsilanti, Michigan_

It happened fast and without warning. One second Darcy was hanging sheets to dry on the clothesline tied between their trailer and a tree and the next she was gone, the basket of laundry lying spilt on the frosty ground.

Clint looked for her, yelling her name until his voice is hoarse and his fingers were numb from the cold. He never found her.

She disappeared without a trace, just as she said she would so many months ago. All he had was her journal and some pictures that they'd taken throughout the years.

He'd lost the woman that raised him. He was alone again, but this time he was a somewhat established adult, not a scrawny kid that needed food.

But he'd never stop looking for her.

Not until she was safe at home with him.

* * *

 **Be sure to let me know what you think!**

 **~Grace**


End file.
